


Grace of Fire and Flame

by DarkCommet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Victorian, BAMF Hermione Granger, Dark Dumbledore, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Good Tom Riddle, Magic-Users, Manipulative Dumbledore, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Seer Luna Lovegood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-09 02:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10402236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkCommet/pseuds/DarkCommet
Summary: Running away to join the circus.It sounds like something out of a book she'd have found completely ridiculous had she read it earlier in her life. Who would want to leave their friends? Their families? In another life Hermione had mocked the stories she'd heard from friends about little multi-headed children breaking out of their parent's basement to join the men and women performing for little more then a handful of coin.Now Hermione thinks she understands that multi-headed child a little better.





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione flexes her fingers as she glances at the man sitting across from her. 

He's a strange man. Neither tall nor short, beard a deep auburn color streaked with silver. Unremarkable. Save for his eyes, of course. The man's eyes are a little too deep set and not quite far enough apart, an oddity that is hardly noticeable due to the blueness of his eyes. There is something strange about the man's gaze. Something that makes Hermione's shoulders pull back and her spine straighten. 

"Good morning, my dear." The man greets. 

"Good morning, sir." Hermione replies, nervously pulling at the frayed hem of her shawl. 

The smiling man pours a cup of tea, offering it to Hermione once it's full, but when she declines with a polite smile the man takes it for himself. The young woman watches him for a moment, trying to decide whether or not she feels safe in his presence. She's not even supposed to be here. If her parents ever found out... Lord, they'd be so disappointed in her. 

_Running off to join the circus, honestly Hermione, we raised you better._

But it's not like she has much of a choice. It's not like her parents can help her control her little _problem_ , Hermione's lucky they haven't sent her to a doctor or an asylum. Neither of which Hermione thinks could help her either. Besides, she's heard things about Hogwarts. Odd things. Things that ignite intrigue and fear all at once. Hermione isn't sure if that's true of not, but, she figures it's worth a try. 

"Might I ask you a personal question, my dear?" The man asks. 

"Of course, sir." Hermione speaks too quickly and cringes at the cracking of her voice. 

The man's eyes narrow slightly as he pushes his now empty cup away. "Why have you come here? It is not typical for a young woman of your class to come without an escort... If at all." 

"I've heard that your... performers were gifted," Hermione clenches her hands in her lap. "I was wondering if I might be able to speak with you about that?" 

Suddenly the man's eyes are too sharp, too analyzing, and something in Hermione's head is telling her to run away and never look back. But she can't. Because this is the last place she can go before she finds herself in some sort of institution. Her parent's can't protect her forever after all. 

"My dear, to be one of the performers one must have a certain ability." 

"What kind of ability?" 

"It is difficult to say... Though, something tells me you know what I'm speaking of." 

Hermione nods, a curt little thing that causes the fly away hairs on her head to sway. 

And the man leans forward, the jolly glint in his eyes turning a tad happier. He smiles kindly as he reaches out his hand. 

"Would you mind showing me? I do hate to impose, but if you are certain you wish to join my family I must be sure you meet the _requirements_." 

With a hesitant nod Hermione raises her left hand and places it in the weathered hand of the man across from her. She's shaking, terribly so, and Hermione's surprised she can even keep her fingers wrapped around the man's wrist. But she does, because there's no other choice. No other option. She either makes it or she goes home and tries to explain why she'd gotten back so late. 

"I don't know how to control this." Hermione apologizes. 

Before the man can even ask what she's referring to a flickering blue flame begins dancing on the man's forearm. And while the man's eyes grow wide with wonder and amazement, Hermione's narrow in her concentration. She grinds her teeth together and tries to control the sudden shakiness of her hands. 

Another flame appears, this time larger and more aggressive, and another. 

Hermione rips her hand out of the older man's grip and purses her lips. 

"Simply marvelous, my dear." The man laughs, eyes fixated on the dancing blue flames. 

"I cannot control it." Hermione reminds him almost hatefully. 

Because summoning the flame is easy, so very easy, but dispelling said flame or only summoning one is much harder. Once it starts Hermione has issues turning it off. And it's that lack of control that has the girl sitting in this man's makeshift office in an oddly colored canvas tent on the outskirts of London.

"There are many who come here who have very little control of their gifts," The man says as he reaches for a small box that rests on the table. 

"So you'll help me?" Hermione asks, suddenly so hopeful because no one's actually been able to help her. Not her mother, not her father, no one. 

And the man smiles as he pulls a folded piece of parchment and a quill from the box. He slides both across the table with a gentle smile that makes the hair on the back of Hermione's neck stand on end. Which is completely ridiculous because the man in front of her has been nothing but kind. 

"My dear," the man says with a smile, "I would love nothing more then to help you. Learning to control one's gift is a very important thing. All I require of you, is your signature." 

"My signature, sir?" 

"Consider it a roster of sorts. A way for an old man to keep track of his family." 

Hermione bites her lip as she picks up the quill, eyes fixated on the now unfolded piece of parchment and the names written there on. 

Thorfinn Rowle

_Fred Weasley._

_George Weasley._

_Luna Lovegood._

_Tom Riddle._

_Lavender Brown._

_Ron Weasley._

_Ginny Weasley._

_Harry Potter._

So many names, some of which have been crossed out so many times they they'd become illegible. Hermione sighs before taking up the quill. She dips it in the inkwell Dumbledore offers her, twists it between her fingers a bit, and carefully adds her name to the ever growing list. 

There's something in the man's smile that makes Hermione wonder if she just did something terribly, terribly wrong. 

 

* * *

 

Running away to join the circus. 

It sounds like something out of a book she'd have found completely ridiculous had she read it earlier in her life. Who would want to leave their friends? Their families? In another life Hermione had mocked the stories she'd heard from friends about little multi-headed children breaking out of their parent's basement to join the men and women performing for little more then a handful of coin. 

Now Hermione thinks she understands that multi-headed child a little better. 

Her tent isn't small or overtly cramped, nor is it full of laughing bodies or sneering faces. Instead it is large enough to house four beds comfortably and a few chests here and there as well as an old vanity that looks like it had been better days. For a brief moment Hermione wonders why Dumbledore has decided to bunk her with the Big Top performers. 

"Because you'll be one of them soon enough." Dumbledore muses absently when Hermione asks. 

Which is strange because Hermione certainly hasn't _earned_ her bed. 

But it's soft and warm and gives a little beneath her weight as Hermione lowers herself down onto the worn mattress. 

What will her new housemates think of her? Will they scorn her? Accept her? Hermione's always had a hard time making friends in other women. She's too blunt, too disinterested in gossip or fashion. None of which she's entirely sure the people who share the tent will be interested in as well. 

So caught up in her worry, Hermione doesn't notice the blonde woman that enters the tent until there's a hand on her shoulder.

When Hermione manages to catch her breath she takes a moment to study the woman standing beside her... Well, girl really. She looks too young to be a woman. Dirty blonde hair hangs around the girl's frame in a tangled mass of waves and unlike with Dumbledore the girl's silvery coloring does not distract from the fact that her eyes are a bit too protuberant for her face. 

"Hello." The girl greets with a distant smile. 

"Oh, erm, hello," Hermione licks her bottom lip before extending her hand. "My name's-" 

"Hermione Granger, your father is a dentist, you'll be seventeen in three weeks." The girl interrupts, voice sweet and gentle. 

"I... Well, yes... How did you know that?" 

The girl extends her hand, "Luna Lovegood, you and I are going to be great friends." 

"Stop talkin' the poor girl's ear off Looney." 

Before Hermione can twist to peer around the blonde there's another girl in the tent, standing a little too close to Hermione and looking as if she'd smelt something terrible on her way in. 

"This her then?" 

"Yes, Hermione Granger this is Lavender Brown... She's terribly impolite, I'm afraid." 

"Piss off Lovegood," Lavender barks before pinning Hermione with a disgruntled look. "You look like you might be Penelope's size... We'll have to do a fitting before we leave." 

"Lavender makes all of the costumes. Makes sure everyone looks acceptable for their performances." Luna intones kindly. 

Instead of acknowledging the comment Lavender Brown flops down on the cot across from Hermione's and puts her hands behind her head. 

Lavender Brown is a pretty thing. Buxom with a soft features and a curtain of shimmering honey colored hair. Hermione finds herself absently tugging on a clump of her own hair. It's a deep brown color, a bit too curly, a bit too course, but it's Hermione's hair and she's never really had much of an issue with it... But that doesn't mean she doesn't envy other women's hair from time to time. 

"Shouldn't you be working? I believe Tom will need y-"

"Riddle can fuck himself. I'm not going to his tent!" Lavender snarls, pretty face turning an ugly shade of red. "Besides, we have three hours 'til the show." 

"Which is exactly why you need to be working." Luna reminds. 

With a snarl the other girl rolls out of bed. 

Hermione watches as Lavender stomps over to the vanity where a small, worn out leather bag rests. The blonde snatches up the bag, checks it's content, and with one last sneer storms out of the tent. 

"Her father passed recently." Luna explains, moving over to the chest at the end of her chosen cot. 

The blonde ruffles around for a little bit before pulling out a wad of shimmering, multi-colored fabric. Deep blues and light purples and a fair bit of yellow dances before Hermione's eyes as Luna begins setting out her costume. 

"So, what do you do?" Hermione finds herself asking. 

"I see things. The future, I mean." Luna says as she begins removing her clothes. 

Hermione's quick to avert her eyes. "Oh." 

"Have they assigned you a roll yet?" Luna asks. 

"No, Dumbledore told me I'd be watching the show tonight." 

Something flashes in Luna's silvery gaze but it's gone before Hermione can place it. Replaced with an airy smile and a kind, "You'll love it. Everyone tries so hard to please the audience. You'll come by my tent won't you? I'd love to read your palms." 

Hermione finds herself nodding despite the fact that she has reservations about entering the seer's tent. If she didn't know any better, if she wasn't gifted herself, Hermione would have accused Luna Lovegood of being a liar. But Hermione does know better. And the fact that there's someone who can see what's to come makes the brunette nervous. 

"Which act is your favorite?" Hermione decides a change of subject is better then a lie. 

Luna appears in front of her, a strange robe adorning her body, bells dangle around her hips and they make soft clinks whenever she moves. But Hermione is more distracted by the intensity of Luna's eyes, which are lined with Khol and her lips smeared with a deep red cream. She looks terrifying. In a beautiful sort of way. 

"Oh, I love them all." Luna murmurs before a smile pulls her lips across her face. "So difficult to choose really."  

With that the younger looking girl turns on her heel and seemingly floats out of the tent. 


	2. Chapter 2

Minerva McGonagall is about as old as Dumbledore, perhaps a few years younger. Her hair is a light brown and her eyes are a severe grey that causes the sharpness of her features to appear far harsher then they actually are. But when she smiles Hermione finds herself thinking that the older woman is actually rather pretty. 

"Hello, you must be Hermione Granger." 

"Yes, ma'am." Hermione smiles as she takes a seat beside the older woman. 

All around them are men and women with children clinging to their legs or staring wide eyed at the twinkling stars that cover the ceiling. Which Hermione had been shocked to learn was a trick that one of the performers could do. Illusions and all that. It's absolutely amazing. 

Hermione sighs as she settles herself down onto the bench beside Minerva. 

"May I ask you a question?" Hermione inquires after a moment, eyes trained on a particularly squirmy child who is currently trying to remove herself from her mother's grasp. 

"Of course." 

"What is it that you do exactly? Dumbledore wasn't very specific." 

Minerva makes a sound in the back of her throat that tells the brunette she isn't very pleased, but whether her annoyance is toward Hermione or Dumbledore is unclear. And Hermione's certainly not going to ask. 

"I teach those who work here how to control their gifts. Whether or not they become performers is up to Albus." 

Which makes sense. 

Before the younger girl can ask Minerva to elaborate a hush has fallen over the crowd and the lights have dimmed a fair amount. The exception being the tall man standing in the middle of the ring. It's Albus, Hermione reaslizes after a moment. He looks... Odd... Older. There's more grey in his beard then auburn and his form is less spry. Hermione purses her lips as a hush falls over the crowd. 

"My Ladies, My Lords, my friends!" His voice is weathered, comforting in a way a grandfather's voice is comforting. "I welcome you to my kingdom, my home! A land where reality is but a fantasy and fantasy is the reality. I, ladies and lords, welcome you most humbly to Hogwarts." 

If she's being honest, which Hermione always in regards to herself, she'd been expecting the typical goings of a circus. A puff of dust here, a dash of mica flakes there, and poof! You have yourself a circus. This is not what she gets at all. 

What she gets is Dumbledore's smiling face before two young women dart out of the shadows, grab the flaps of the tent's back entrance, and pull the fabric away to reveal golden light and laughter and music. 

"What is this?" Hermione asks, rooted to her spot despite the fact that the audience is beginning to rush toward the new sights. 

"This is Hogwarts," Minerva explains. "What? You didn't honestly expect us to put on a muggle circus, did you?" 

"Muggle?" 

"You'll learn," Minerva stands and gently guides Hermione to her feet so that they might follow the crowd. "Hogwarts isn't like other any other circus you'll ever see Miss Granger. Come, there's much to see." 

Hermione wonders how this is even possible. How all of this managed to seemingly appear over the course of thirty minutes. Because Hermione hadn't seen any of this when she'd trudged up the muddy hillside to the little booth where the dark haired man had been sitting. But then, she supposes it's magic. 

With a smile Hermione finds herself stepping away from Minerva, which the older woman seemingly doesn't realize, so that she can explore the new sights without being dragged away from anything before she's had her fill of wonder. Before long Hermione finds herself standing among a small crowd circling around a large tent with a painted sign planted in the ground beside the entrance. 

 _Weasley Wizard Wheezes!_ It reads, the words painted in chipped gold beneath the visage of two smiling men. 

The brunette steps into the tend, surprised to find only one red headed man waiting. 

"Welcome, guests, didn't expect to see you here, no I did not." The man laughs, his brogue thick and his face laughing. Hermione settles herself onto one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs as the man continues. "Were you expectin' anyone Feorge?"

"Course not Gred, how could I be when I'm stuck to you?" 

Suddenly the man spins, revealing the laughing face identical to his own plastered to the back of his head. A gasp rises among the crowd, horror and disgust obvious. The laughing face frowns a bit before laughing. 

"Ah, sorry chaps, forgot your lot don't like seeing two faces on one head. I don't either mind you, but sometimes it can't be helped." 

And the sight of the man seemingly pulling himself out of the other man's skin is enough to make Hermione blanch. In a way it's disgusting to watch but the girl finds herself unable to pull her eyes away from the image the two men now make. They're two different people, that much is obvious, but they seemingly inhabit one body. Which is attributed to the fact that despite having pulled himself off- or even out of- his twin the read headed man is still connected to the other at the hip and through the leg.

Which makes watching them all the more amazing.

"See Feorge, I always told you they love me most." The man to the left chimes, earning himself a loud burst of laughter from the crowd.

"No Gred, they're just laughing at your ugly mug." The other chortles. 

The crowd laughs harder and Hermione watches as the red headed man who calls himself 'Feorge' slips back into his brother. 

She slips out before she can get tangled up in the crowd. 

 

* * *

 

Walking around proves to be more entertaining for Hermione then being lead about. She sees quite a few interesting acts. 

There's a woman with short pink hair that she's spiked up into sharp, random points. And while the hair is most definitely not something Hermione's ever seen before that's not the woman's strangest feature. Oh no, that title goes to the fact that the woman's face is ever shifting. At one point she looks like a cat, another time she looks like some sort of exotic bird; sharp features and colorful wings sprouting from her forehead. It's awe inspiring and the crowd cheers for her. 

Hermione continues walking, trying to take in everything and commit what she sees to memory. 

Because it's beautiful, everything about Hogwarts is beautiful. From the tents to the lights twinkling above their heads, to the performers who are laughing and smiling and encouraging the audience to come closer. 

"Young lady!" A man calls, causing Hermione to freeze and turn very slowly, unsure if the man's talking to her. "Come, come see the wolf man!" 

_Wolf man?_

She's not entirely sure what she's going to see but it's intriguing enough that Hermione only hesitates a moment before stepping closer to the man who'd called after her. A handsome man to be certain, but too old for Hermione's tastes. 

"You're in for a treat, My Lady." The man promises with a smile that doesn't exactly touch his eyes. 

And it's then that the apprehension hits. The feeling that something is very, very wrong with this situation. But Hermione doesn't comment on it nor does she turn away from the man so that she might slip back into the crowd. Instead, Hermione allows her curiosity to win out over her better judgement. 

The man leads her to a seat toward the back of the small tent, offers one last bitter smile, before slipping through the crowd with a joyful cry of, "At last Ladies and Gentlemen, it is time to show you the Wolf Man!" 

He swings his arm toward the large cage that takes up most of the tent and for the first time Hermione catches a glance of the creature that lays within. 

Elongated, canine features and a knobby body void of hair lays in the center of the cage. It does not move, it does not make a sound, it merely lays there and sleeps. Someone in the crowd makes a loud complaint, starts making crude remarks about the audacity of the circus taking his money for nothing more then parlor tricks. 

"Now, now good sir," The master of the tent tries to soothe, "don't be hasty." 

But there is a finger jabbing into his chest and an enraged face scowling up at him. 

And suddenly a loud, enraged growl rips through the tent causing everyone's eyes to dart to the creature in the cage. 

He's awake, snarling and foaming at the mouth like some sort of rabid dog but its eyes are trained on the audience member who is still standing too close to the tent master. Another snarl, this time much louder, and the creature makes an attempt to lunge at the man. Obviously he doesn't make it very far what with the cage, but, it's enough to make the audience laugh and jeer which causes a sudden tension in the tent master's shoulders. 

Hermione decides that this is not the kind of entertainment she wants. 

And so she slips out of the tent with as much discretion as her heeled boots with allow her. 

 

* * *

 

When she was a child Hermione's father had taken her to a circus. She'd hated the noise, hated the music that had grated against her ears while the laughter of others boomed in her head. Her father had never taken her to a circus after that. And Hermione finds herself wondering if her parents would enjoy this place. Would they have laughed at the red headed men? Would her father have jeered at the wolf man? Would her mother have taken entertainment in the sight of the animal faced woman? 

 _No_ , Hermione thinks, _they would have found more entertainment in the Strong Man or the exotic animals._

It's not a thought that causes comfort. Her parents would be so disappointed in her if they ever found out about how she'd run away to join these men and women who sell their oddities so that others might find entertainment. 

Goodness, her father would be so ashamed to learn that his daughter turned to a Circus Master instead of her own father when she needed a comforting hand the most. 

Hermione shakes the thoughts from her head. No use thinking about what would have been if she'd stayed, or her parents reaction to what they'll find waiting for them when they return from France. Better to let them think she's run off to elope then to live with the shame of their daughter- they're brilliantly intelligent daughter- running off to live with the circus. 

But that's a bit hypocritical isn't it? After all, they're eloped. Run off to get married despite the fact that her father was the son of a very prominent business man. He'd have inherited quite a bit of money had Johnathan Granger not run off with Jane Wilkins. 

"Excuse me! Excuse me Miss? Are you Hermione Granger?" 

The girl in question turns to look for the man who'd spoken to her. What she finds is a dark haired boy with brilliantly green eyes that are offset by the smears of purple under his bottom lashes. But he's smiling and waving and he looks happy enough. 

"I am." Hermione holds out her hand, preparing for a shake despite the lack of propriety. 

"Harry Potter," The man- Harry- takes her hand and gives it a firm shake before pulling away. "McGonagall is looking for you. Said you might have gotten lost." 

"Oh, erm, yes." 

"Don't worry. No one sticks around her on their first visit. She's just kind of accepted it at this point." Harry laughs before placing his hand on her shoulder so he can lead here through the crowd of people. 

"Where are we going?" 

"Well, I assume you haven't eaten and as it's getting late I thought I'd go ahead and get you some food before taking you back to your tent." 

"Why?" 

Harry offers her a bashful smile as he says, "I'm hungry myself... Besides, this way I can tell McGonagall that you're safe and sound without risking her trying to bite my head off." 

Hermione blanches. 

Would she do that? _Could_ she do that? 

Seemingly noticing her discomfort Harry waves off her concern with a laugh. 

"I promise I'm kidding. Though, she used to be a governess way back when and I think she likes to think of herself as a disciplinary figure." Harry shrugs before running a hand through his hair, "So what do you do?" 

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione gapes as she steps around a child who's trying to catch a glimpse of a blond man with bulging muscles. 

"See, I can fly. Comes in handy when we need something from the top shelves," when Hermione doesn't laugh Harry rubs the back of his neck, "that was a joke. Sometimes, when we perform like a regular circus, I perform." 

"Do you enjoy it? Performing, I mean?" 

"Most of the time. Not much of a fan of Lavender putting her hands all over me though." 

"Oh." 

"So, what do you do? I heard Dumbledore talking about it with McGonagall... Must be impressive." 

Hermione scoffs, "Not really." 

She doesn't elaborate. Mostly because they've reached a small stand that smells like candies and treats, but also because there's this little voice in the back of her head telling Hermione to shut up. _Or else_. 

"Hello Seamus, can we get come chocolates?" 

The boy behind the counter nods once before shoving a bag of treats toward Harry with an accented, "Now don't go tellin' anyone those were free you hear? I have a reputation!" 

"Of course, of course. No free treats. Thanks, mate!" 

"And tell Ron that the next time he comes here he'd better have washed his ruddy hands!" 

Harry promises to relay the message before leading Hermione off into the crowd once more. 

* * *

 

They reach Hermione's tent in a little under ten minutes. She can still hear the excited roar of Londoners as they enjoy the circus, but it's dulled a bit now. Hermione feels like she can actually hear herself think. 

"Well, this is me." Hermione says. 

"Right. I'll be off then. Gotta tell McGonagall you're safe and all that." 

With that said Harry Potter turns on his heel and walks away. Hermione watches him leave with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. He certainly seems friendly enough, like someone she'd actually enjoy spending her time with. 

The brunette shakes her head and slips back into the tent. 

And she's mildly surprised to find her trunk resting at the foot of her cot instead of where she'd left it. 

 _Odd_ , she thinks, _very odd indeed_. 

But she's not actually all that surprised because this is a circus and odd things are bound to happen eventually. 

With a sigh Hermione quickly changes out of her dress and into a nightgown. She slips under the covers of her cot and buries her face in her pillow. She's never had a problem sleeping in strange places. So instead of worrying about why her trunk had been left open Hermione curls in on herself a bit and closes her eyes. 


End file.
